Online Catch
by MaiTai1327
Summary: Jack Crawford concocts a plan to lure Hannibal out of hiding... with uploading Will's profile on an international online dating site. Without Will's consent, of course. Happens after season 2. Hannibal/Will, slash
1. Chapter 1

Contains solid Season 2 spoilers!

Rated T because of some moderate slash scenes, non-descriptive mentions of hetero-sex, mild language, explicit imagery of alcohol consumption, mild imagery of prescription drug abuse, and mild mentions of canon-typical violence. If you need more specific warnings, feel free to ask me in a private message to send those to you personally before you read the story.

**Thanks so much to Silverfeathered_Angel for the wonderful betawork.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Plans<strong>

Jack Crawford really meant to talk about his idea to Will. While he was crossing the path leading to the entrance of the lonely house, he was still lost deep in his thoughts to figure out how to present his plan in the least awkward way. When he finally deemed the potential part of the dialogue ready, he rang the doorbell with a firm push.

No answer.

Jack made an absent-minded motion to adjust the collar of his coat. Five months had passed, but the scars were still distantly aching. Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? Or did he just need some more patience before it all went away?

When he didn't hear the approaching steps of Graham, he pushed the button of the doorbell again. Then again.

Still no answer.

He chose to try whether the front door was locked, and it opened on the first attempt.

As Jack stepped in, he caught site of Will in the living room, lying on the creaking, old sofa, which had a dim, worn shade of brownish green, sleeping with half of his limbs uncomfortably hanging from the piece of furniture. Crawford entered the place, and Graham opened his bloodshot eyes, lightly lifting his head up from the edge. "J-Jack?"

"Are you alright?" Jack risked the question.

A muffled, numb groan. "Er, I'm... yes, I am, I'm just... I'm still on heavy medication... because... because of the wound, you know," Will bumbled, then let his head fall back on the armrest of the sofa.

Crawford had a look at the empty bottle of Scotch standing on the coffee table. The distinctive smell of alcohol drifting from the direction of the cheap, stained jacket covering the younger man's shoulders was quite suggestive, too.

"Did you drink all of that alone?" Jack's voice turned from astonished to concerned. "Will, this is utterly dangerous, particularly together with medicines."

"I'm okay." Will closed his eyes wearily, while mumbling, "I'm just... I'm just tired and I need some sleep. Can you come back later, at another time?"

Yes, Jack really meant to talk about his idea. But as he stood there, looking at Graham's broken, crumpled figure, he couldn't stop thinking that the poor man was literally a wreck, both mentally and physically, and upsetting him with plans and ideas would be sheer cruelty. He was not even sure that Will was in the condition to be capable of understanding more than two or three coherent sentences.

Therefore, Crawford went into Will's bedroom instead, searched for a bluish blanket which wasn't completely covered with dog hair, and returned to put it around Graham's shoulders. Will slightly flinched at the touch on his arm, but he didn't open his eyes.

Jack saw that there was no use staying there. Will was supposedly not under life-threatening conditions, and he couldn't help. He felt some remorse for not visiting earlier, and he promised to himself that he was going to come around tomorrow to check on Graham.

As he left, ponderingly tapping his restored FBI badge under his long, black coat on his way to his car, the vague thought crossed his mind that, perhaps, he had never really wanted to ask for Will's permission in the first place, knowing that the answer to his idea would be undoubtedly, "No". And now he just grabbed the first suitable excuse, namely, Graham's miserable condition...

Jack quickly tried to avert this idea, because he didn't particularly enjoy it. No. He wanted to do this the right way, but seeing the impossible state Will was in, he was left with no other choice. And that was it. There was no room for further questions.

* * *

><p>Bedelia Du Maurier had imagined her stay in Europe to be much more thrilling than it turned out to be. She'd expected her escape together with Hannibal Lecter to be the adventure of her life; a real incalculable mystery. Now she had to admit that she had been awfully mistaken.<p>

Her former colleague was unable to overstep the past, and concentrate on anything else but the dark disappointment he felt over Will's betrayal. And, since Bedelia was still the closest he had to a therapist, he shared all his thoughts about the topic with her.

Every second day, Hannibal was determined to convince himself that the way Will had figuratively stabbed him in the back was the end of all what he had together with the younger man... But the other days, he shared long monologues with Doctor Du Maurier about his plans to find a way to send signs to Will... To creep back inside his head... To make him unable to forget... To remind him... To stay with him from afar...

First, Bedelia tried to list him rational reasons why Hannibal should just leave Will's memory behind and completely turn his attention towards his future – which didn't include Will in any way. After seeing that these attempts had been in vain, she tried to simply switch the topic, but sooner or later, all conversations ended somehow with Will.

Lately, she didn't even bother any more. She had gotten used to Hannibal's changes of mind about Graham, and almost from the first blink every morning, she could already figure out if Doctor Lecter had one of his days of 'Giving up on Will' or the ones when he was over-occupied with creating endless, risky plans to catch Will's attention again and torment him from the distance.

Bedelia understood that this was not easy for Hannibal. For a psychopath with a badly repressed god-complex, nothing could be worse than becoming confronted by the fact that he couldn't possess the things he wanted the most. Also, the dark, burning wish of his hurt pride for vengeance tormented Lecter like poison. But for Doctor Du Maurier, this started to get less and less interesting.

And, ultimately, all of their dialogues uncontrollably spiraled into Hannibal's unavailing, constant pining after his only friend.

On a Wednesday morning, as Bedelia was sitting by the round, shiny-polished marble table of the hotel's restaurant, she started to definitely feel that this got too much for her.

Hannibal was sitting opposite her, in his tailor-made, reddish brown, three-piece suit with a matching patterned tie and cream-colored shirt. The doctor was slowly eating a salad. Bedelia had long finished her omelet, being the one who mutely listened, while Hannibal kept minutes-long pauses between each bite to discuss some details of a new idea that occurred to him throughout the night.

This was one of the days of 'Not letting Will forget about his betrayal until the end of time', so Bedelia had to keep listening to an extensive explanation on how Hannibal wanted to send a distant message to Graham in the form of a mutilated corpse – in a way only Will was capable of understanding. However, when it emerged from the train of thought that what Doctor Lecter had described during the complete breakfast was only the first step of a way more complex plan he had just started to introduce, Doctor Du Maurier couldn't help but interrupt.

"What is it that makes you this persistent?" she asked, hoping that she might be able to change the direction of the conversation before she would be forced to become familiar with the whole plan.

Hannibal was just about to pin a half shrimp from his salad on his fork, but now his hand froze in the middle of the motion. Bedelia expected the usual answer about avenging betrayal, but Doctor Lecter's face turned strangely pale and stiff instead, and then suddenly, he admitted, "I still want his friendship."

Doctor Du Maurier felt a brush of sadness run through her mind.

"Do you understand the impossibility of this wish?" she replied earnestly. "You can't control him. If you could, you wouldn't be interested in him. A submissive puppet is not what you need. You would get bored with him, you could not respect him for who he is and for what his mind hides. All the beauty you admire now would crumble in front of your eyes if you saw him lose his own personality and the things that make him strong and unique... But if he stays who he is, he'll always betray you. Don't you see this?"

Hannibal maintained eye contact, cold and without a stir, like a reptile. "I understand this, yes."

"So why don't you just let it go?"

"Because I'm unable to."

And the next moment, Doctor Lecter continued explaining his pointless plan again.

* * *

><p>Jack was sitting in his FBI office, staring at the screen of his palmtop. He spent the last hours browsing online dating sites for adults living in all different corners of the world. He filtered those out in the first round which proved to be dubious or frivolous, and continued to re-check the ones that seemed to be reliable, respectful web pages to find partner for long-term relationships.<p>

He was searching for the appropriate website to upload Will's profile.

He felt content, as he pondered over his plan while clicking from window to window. _This is going to annoy that bastard to no end. Seeing that Will got over his tortures so soon... That Will searches for a peaceful life with a nice, decent woman, and tries to build normal relationships with normal human beings... That monster simply won't be able to ignore the fact that he is this easily losing the leverage he believed to have over his former friend. And if he contacts Will, I'll be here to decoy him into a trap and catch him._

Jack paused for a moment to let the idea fill his head with the forceful, burning wish to succeed, and then he returned to his determined search for the proper site.

* * *

><p>Bedelia was alone in the lounge of the hotel, under a palm tree planted in a wooden pot behind her armchair. She held her iPad on her left knee, and solved an over-repeated crossword puzzle. It was still more interesting than listening to Hannibal's lengthy musing over Will Graham in the room they shared on the fourth floor.<p>

She wished to get a job or some free time hobby, which could fill her days. But she agreed with Hannibal on not showing up at any public event or applying for any kind of position before the end of the year, in order to avoid attracting some unwanted attention. So all she could do was sit in her hotel room or in the corner of the lounge, and spend her time browsing online.

Most probably, this dull, lonely inactivity was the reason why she first clicked on the web page called International Love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Start**

Will woke up with a splitting headache. The sun was already up, and the sharp, glaring sunbeams sneaked into the room through the slits of the shutters. First, he threw the blanket over his face to cover his eyes from the rays of light, but then the nausea of hangover forced him to get up anyway.

Scrambling to his feet from the sofa, all his muscles seemed to instantly fill with stinging pain following the torpid insensitivity. Will tried to remember how he got in this horribly inconvenient lying position, but he could recall none of it.

Before getting lost too deep in the lack of memories creating a dark gap in his mind, he turned and limped into the bathroom to vomit. Then he held his face under gushing cold water, letting it wake him up to a more secure degree.

On returning to the living room, Will started to search for a gulp of whisky, but to his unpleasant surprise, he found the bottle empty. Somehow, yesterday, he'd managed to drink the whole bottle of Scotch he had kept in the back of the kitchen cupboard, and had years ago received as an old Christmas present from the students he had taught at the FBI Academy. Now he didn't have anything else, only a few drops glittering on the bottom of three or four dust-stained wine bottles standing on his kitchen table. But it was far from enough to start the day.

Will had to stagger back into the bathroom to do something with his looks, so that he could get in an appropriate condition to leave his house and buy something to drink, in spite of the constant, painful, nauseated feeling in his stomach caused by even the faintest idea of drinking alcohol ever again. But the last thing he wanted was to sober up and let his thoughts become clear in his head. Anything was better than that... Even the cheap, muddy, counterfeited vodka sold at the small store behind the gas station, the closest place where he could buy liquor.

But before he could successfully drive a stubborn wisp of hair away from his forehead with his shaking palm, the loud ringing of his doorbell rushed through the house. Will's mouth squirmed. _No... Not a visitor again_. Jack Crawford's sudden visit had been embarrassing enough yesterday, if it really had happened. Hopefully, it was just a drunken dream.

Will made a last attempt to solve the miserable condition of his sticky, unkempt hair, but when the motion ended with no visible results, he shrugged impatiently, and turned to a towel to wipe off the cold drops of water from his twelve-day beard. Meanwhile, he hoped that whoever the person ringing his doorbell might be was going to get bored and leave. But he would soon see that he had set his hopes too high. The doorbell was ringing again. And again. And again.

Will spat a curse under his breath while heading for the door with slow, uncertain steps. As he finally opened it, he found Jack Crawford in the doorway. The older man was wearing a long, black coat with a gray scarf, and had a suitcase and some documents in his hands.

"Hello," Will's vocal chords didn't completely obey to form an intelligible word, and the greeting he uttered sounded much harsher and grating than he aimed it to be.

"Hello, Will. May I come in?"

"If really necessary." Will kept his eyes on a spot above Crawford's left shoulder in the blank air.

"I would like you to assist me with some procedural tasks."

Will didn't move away from the way to let the older man in, only asked in a hoarse croak, "Like what?"

"Like filling this form for example." Jack showed the few clipped papers he was holding in his left hand. "It's nothing urgent, but I was considering refreshing personal data in the FBI database. Some perfunctory occupational tasks..."

"I don't work with the Bureau any longer."

"All bios must be updated, even for former associates."

Will still didn't step away; he kept holding one of his hands on the door handle. "Does this have anything to do with the investigation concerning me?"

"No, this is only a general routine procedure they need us to comply with." Jack rotated the papers in his hand. The motion seemed secretly nervous. "Look, this doesn't take longer than five minutes. Why don't you just fill this form about your personal data right now, and then I'll leave?"

The prospect of Jack leaving as soon as possible slightly brightened Will's mood.

"Okay, hand me the papers," he consented, still languidly though.

There was something strangely expectant in the way Crawford followed him as Will sat down on the sofa, and placed the papers in front of him on the coffee table.

Will took the pen he had used to sign his fast food order last weekend when the delivery guy couldn't find his own, and forgetting about it, he had left it on the table. Now he started to scribble down the answers to the questions included in the form. However, after filling the top fields with his basic personal data, he found the nature of the following questions quite odd.

"What is my favorite song?!" Will quoted with a snort, a lifeless grimace lingering on his lips. "What the hell is this?"

"I didn't understand the reason for these kind of personal questions, either, but I also had to add these pieces of information to my own files," Jack told him, looking fixedly at Will's pen, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. "Maybe, this has something to do with the new employment policy they introduced last month. A more worker-friendly office environment, and a bunch of other useless modern directives."

"I'll skip this nonsense," Will growled, and pushed his pen and the papers away.

"No, no," Jack protested with abrupt vehemence. "Just a few minutes, I don't ask for more. I need to get this all done. You know, there has been huge pressure on me since I was reinstated, and I'm expected to follow protocol impeccably."

Will spent a few seconds considering how he could get rid of Crawford sooner, and finally he decided that doing as Jack wanted would likely raise the chances of him to promptly leave. So he settled for filling the blanks with a resigned pull at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay," he said, taking his pen again. "But don't suppose that I'll deeply contemplate my answers."

* * *

><p>"I'm of the opinion that I should send an ear to him first, in a carved wooden box. How does this sound according to you?" Hannibal leaned back in the deep purple, velvet-covered armchair placed in the corner of the five-star hotel room classified as honeymoon suite. They had checked in as a freshly married couple two days ago. His hands were folded on one knee, his dark, cold eyes darting at the woman sitting opposite him.<p>

Bedelia kept her iPad on her lap, typing a message online. She replied, distracted, "What made you change your mind about the malar bone you mentioned the day before yesterday?"

As a response, Hannibal brought up a long psychological explanation, which made it possible for Doctor Du Maurier to direct her attention completely towards the message she was writing. She knew that Doctor Lecter's theory was about to last at least four or five minutes before he would address her a new question.

Bedelia found the online dating site 'International Love' she discovered quite entertaining, and Hannibal didn't mind her chatting online while he was talking about Graham. Doctor Lecter could have just talked to an empty room, it wouldn't have made a big difference to him, he was that deeply lost in his thoughts.

And finally, their inert staying at hotels became a bit more interesting for Doctor Du Maurier. Even though the Welsh banker she lately exchanged messages with started to lose his charm after he had claimed to go to play squash one afternoon, and then wrote the next day about the fun he'd had yesterday with his friends at a golf club. Also his English was badly-repressed low-class, so after a few seconds of deliberating, Bedelia deleted him from her contact list.

But the middle-aged businessman from Chile still kept his attractiveness after six or seven detailed messages. Therefore, now she composed a longer, friendly reply about her stay in Paris.

* * *

><p>Crawford sat down in his office, and switched his palmtop on. He felt some mild remorse because of deceiving Will with the lie he had told about updating the FBI database, but he comforted himself with the excuse that he had no other choice. He had to ask these details from Will, otherwise, if he had answered these questions by his own intuition, it would have resulted in an overtly false profile. And Doctor Lecter would have been easily able to figure out the scam. No. Jack had to solve this the way he did. He did nothing wrong.<p>

He took the paper Will wrote his answers on, and copied the replies into the fields appearing on his screen. He started to create a profile for Will on the website called International Love.

After a few minutes of careful typing, Jack finished to fill the general data in. Now there were only those questions left, which regarded the applicant's preferences for dating and relationships. He couldn't ask these from Will, but didn't need help with answering them, either. After marking the Items 'Only Interested in Women' and 'For Serious Relationship' from a bizarrely long list, he turned to choose what type of woman Will was searching for. Trying not to be too specific, he only ticked off some basic expectations such as a reasonable age limit and a positive attitude towards dogs.

As he was done, his last task was to write something into the general description field of the profile. He started to wonder what could be the most annoying phrasing to read for Hannibal, if Doctor Lecter happened to find Will's profile.

Finally, he typed the sentence, 'I want to start a new life and a family', guessing that this was enough to pin into Lecter like a needle. Since he didn't want to sound too conversational, this was the only thing he added to the description field.

And then, Jack switched the screen to search for the most appealing photo of Will in the FBI data base.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Messages**

Jack Crawford soon realized what a horrible idea it was to upload Will's profile on International Love. His initial supposition was that he would have to reply to at best two or three messages per day. After the death of his beloved wife, he spent all his free time alone, and he had guessed that he would have more than enough time after work, in the evening, to compose shrewd replies to any kind of mails Will might receive. He was wrong.

Right from the first hour after the registration, an avalanche of messages started to flood the mailbox he had created for Will on the site, and with time, the amount even worsened.

And since he didn't want to miss a chance to find Hannibal's possible message, he had to read and reply to all mails with due diligence, even to the shortest and dumbest ones. Although he found it very unlikely that Doctor Lecter would try to get in touch with Will in a brief message full of grammatical errors and childish emoticons, calling Will 'cutie' and making some strong sexual suggestions in the most vulgar ways possible, Jack felt determined not to let anything escape his attention. Therefore, he gave some neutral reply to all kinds of mails until it became perfectly clear that the sender was truly not interested in anything else but the things she had first implied. In such case, Crawford quickly deleted the sender from Will's contact list, adding her to a file he was compiling on his palmtop about the uninteresting users.

There were some women who seemed very promising at first. For example, instantly calling him 'Will' despite the fact that Jack indicated his name as William in the profile, without mentioning how he preferred to be called. And some were asking remarkable questions about his past. But they also turned out to be irrelevant after a short while.

After three weeks of spending all his nights online, replying either to the most boring or to the most outrageous messages he had ever seen in his whole life, no wonder Crawford started to give up hope.

* * *

><p>Will dreamt about Hannibal again.<p>

They were having a session in the doctor's office, talking about a hypothetical question of the afterlife maybe, though after waking up, Will couldn't clearly recall the details of the conversation. The only thing he could remember was the familiar shadows of the bookcases falling on him. For a few seconds after opening his eyes, he still felt Hannibal's presence, and it surrounded him with the numb fear of something terrible happening, abhorrence... and then with strangely calm, familiar warmth.

This was one of the reasons Will didn't stop taking his painkillers after the three months his doctors had suggested, and that he even started heavy drinking.

The psychoactive effect took away his ability to shape clear thoughts about his past and about his present situation, or to figure out any future plans. This way, he didn't need to concentrate on anything, to consider any rational ideas or to understand in depth what had happened to him. This dragged him into a constant, wobbling haze, and gave him a few hours during the night that he could spend with Doctor Lecter.

* * *

><p>Hannibal woke up to the shaky, pale light of Bedelia's iPad dancing on his eyelids. She was typing another message online, lying next to him in a violet silk robe on their comfortable double bed.<p>

He normally didn't mind her writing, but this time he had just had a dream about Will and his former office. His friend was upset about an unusually gruesome murder scene he had witnessed, and came to visit him during working hours. Hannibal tried to comfort him with some soothing, composed replies. The doctor was close to talk away the tormented frown from Will's forehead, and the atmosphere of the dream had just started to soften... And right in this moment, the light of the iPad woke him up.

He threw a bad-tempered glimpse at the screen of the device, but the photo he accidentally caught sight of there, made his heart miss a beat. He instantly forgot about the displeasure he felt over waking up... as he saw Will's picture. The so-familiar, bluish, sad eyes managed to make reality completely fade away, and the only thing that filled Hannibal's head was the wish to keep looking into them as long as possible.

But the next moment, Bedelia clicked the window away, and an empty white message box took the picture's place.

It seemed to Hannibal as if a spell which had been cast on him was just alleviated. Seeing Will for a second was both painful like a knife stab and pleasant like a gulp of cold water to a thirsty traveler lost in the desert.

He felt a bit irritated by the intense sudden effect the photo had on him, and tried to explain it with the unexpectedness of it after the dream he had just had. These two together must have been enough to make his brain react in such a dazed manner, with a miserably enthralled gaze at a simple picture.

Hannibal had a look at the electronic display of the hotel's alarm clock standing on his night stand. It was later than midnight. And it seemed simply nonsensical why Doctor Du Maurier would watch Will Graham's photo in the middle of the night, especially in a frame design which reminded Hannibal of the dating site she used lately. No. He must have imagined it. It was just a part of his dream.

But the wish to see the photo again was stronger than any rational deliberation, so he risked the question quietly, "I don't mean to pry into your private conversations, but can you please show me the picture you were looking at a short while ago?"

Bedelia's swiftly typing, beautifully manicured fingers froze on the virtual keyboard. "I didn't realize you were awake," she gave an evasive reply.

"Yes, I am."

There was silence in the room for a while.

"The picture, please." Hannibal repeated.

"Oh, yes, the picture," she echoed with a constrained, faint ghost of a smile on her lips.

She switched windows, and showed the doctor a profile of a young man from the dating site. The man on the photo must have been about 35 years old, with short, maroon hair, and a broad smile on his lips. His bluish green eyes might have shown some similarity to Will's light-colored ones, but nothing else...

Hannibal felt an empty, aching vacancy open in his heart. The photo didn't mean a thing to him. It was not Will. It had never been.

"Thank you," he murmured in a low voice. "Excuse me for interrupting you."

And he turned away, closing his eyes. _It must have been just a dream then_, he told himself. _Certainly, just a vague dream..._

But it strangely hurt, and it didn't go away.

* * *

><p>Jack started to discover the growing symptoms of edginess on himself in the past few days whenever he opened a new message Will received from the site called International Love. He became bored with the usual replies he gave, he had enough of reading the disgraceful sexual implications, or answering stupid questions, or listening to the self-told overt lies about some users' age or looks, and particularly of the total lack of hints suggesting that Doctor Lecter would try to get in touch with Graham under an alias.<p>

He was close to believing that the whole idea was just a pointless waste of time. Why would Hannibal browse an online dating site? And even if he did, he wouldn't check men's profiles, only women. With an encrypting program Crawford had stolen from the FBI tech-lab, he had lifted every security from Will's profile which could have hidden it from any kind of online searching throughout the site, but he still found it less and less probable that Hannibal would ever find Will's page.

The whole plan was worthless. It was pure luck Jack didn't bother Graham with the details. He would have just made a fool out of himself with his idea of catching a serial killer with the help of an online dating site. Laughable.

But the end of the day of complete resignation was the time when Caroline123 sent her first message.

"_Hello, Will._"

It was the only thing she wrote, but it was enough to instantly alert Crawford. He always deemed the use of the name 'Will' a good sign, and the brief, half-friendly-half-distant greeting which accompanied it also seemed noteworthy. And there was something about the user in general that made Jack become interested in her in the blink of an eye.

Her picture was very obscure. A woman sitting at a round café table, turning a bit away from the camera. Even if Crawford had met her several times before, he would have been unable to recognize her from a photo like that. And there was no obvious reason for her not to show her identity. She seemed pretty and elegant as far as Jack could guess from the small-size, blurred picture. Long, blonde and well-groomed hair... White skirt suit with a nipped-in burgundy blouse... That was all Crawford could make out from the ill-lit photo.

She used the name Caroline123, and claimed to be forty years old according to her profile. Since Jack designated the upper age level at forty-two for women who might be potential love interest for Will, he saw that Caroline met the criteria.

There was something about her secretive picture that clearly caught his attention. She wrote very little information about herself on her profile, and didn't even specify her hobbies or her interests.

Jack started with the usual, short, neutral reply, asking Caroline to tell him something about herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Gift**

Seeing Will's picture by accident on the screen of Bedelia's iPad had an extraordinary impact on Hannibal's mood. Doctor Du Maurier regarded it as a hopeful sign. Hannibal started to talk less and less, subsided into silence for long hours, and the only topic he mentioned on the rare occasions when he talked at all was his now unchanging plan to send a cut-off ear to Will.

Bedelia guessed that this meant that Doctor Lecter had been getting closer and closer to swallowing his pride and truly implementing at least one of his ideas. He just needed a push in the right direction. And Doctor Du Maurier had her own plan ready, for which this change came in quite handy.

After a day spent visiting the Louvre, they sat down at a nearby café. Bedelia ordered a sorbet flavored with red wine and Brun Fourca grapes, and then she turned to Hannibal, who made some abstracted motions to even a crease on the left sleeve of his gray suit jacket.

"What's on your mind?" she asked. "You seem engrossed."

Exactly as she expected, Hannibal was wrapped up in thinking about Will, and now he started to explain his usual plan about sending the box with the ear.

When Doctor Lecter stopped for a second, Bedelia swiftly inserted the question she was preparing, "Why haven't you already sent it? You've been talking about this for at least eight days now."

The meditative look on Hannibal's face turned a bit forced. He gave a delayed and reserved response, "I'm still considering the right time."

"I don't think so."

The sudden jab of Bedelia's brief reply made Doctor Lecter softly raise his almost invisible eyebrows in surprise. She returned his questioning look with a staid, thoughtful one. Pensive silence lingered around them while they were both sitting still, keeping their eyes on each other without a stir. Finally, Hannibal was the first to slightly turn away to watch the passers-by.

"Perhaps," he admitted slowly, "I'm waiting for _him_ to make the first move."

Doctor Du Maurier crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair while answering, "What exactly do you expect?"

"I don't have any concrete expectations. I just want to see that he is unable to forget me."

Bedelia knew that her answer was going to hurt Hannibal, but she also understood that there was no other way to make her point clear.

"You know very well that he is capable of living without you, even if broken and tortured. You are the one who is unable to move on," she said, unflinching. "And I think the only reason you hesitate to send him something is that you subconsciously sense that it would be the overt proof of what I've just told you. You can't get over him, while he is trying to build his life again from the ruins you left behind."

Bedelia didn't let it show, but she was not so sure about the truth of her words, namely the fact that Will was really able to live with the consequences of the both abominable and beautiful friendship he had had with Doctor Lecter. But she wanted to shake Hannibal's inactive waiting, and turn it into something useful, and this was the only way.

Shocked, even offended pallor spread on Lecter's sculpture-like features, but the coldness soon melted into lifeless enervation.

"What do you suggest?" he asked in an almost resigned tone.

"First of all, you should stop lying to yourself."

Silence again.

The waitress served their desserts, and Bedelia took her spoon to pick up a bluish grape from the side of her stem glass. Hannibal made a measured motion to align the silverware around his ice cream, but didn't start eating. He spent long mute seconds re-organizing the crudely folded napkin provided by the café personnel.

Finally, he looked up at Bedelia, with a spirited glimmer appearing in his eyes.

"Since we don't have any solid plans for the evening, would you mind accompanying me and look around in some antique shops? We should choose the appropriate box for him. It must be expensive, yet modest, and carved from ebony." Doctor Lecter lifted his spoon with more vigor in the gesture than ever in the past weeks, and slid the silver into the top of the ice cream, while he added, "Moreover, the night is going to be foggy according to the weather forecast. Ideal time to acquire raw material for the rest of the parcel."

Bedelia gave him a slight nod with content. This went easier than she expected.

* * *

><p>Caroline123 was a bit weird, and even though as time passed, it seemed less and less probable that she was an alias used by Hannibal Lecter, Crawford found some surprising amusement in exchanging messages with her.<p>

She only wrote one mail per day, always talking about something completely irrelevant. Like global warming or the difficulties of text editing. She wrote one brief paragraph about her chosen topic, finishing it with a sentence including her own opinion. She never answered any questions Jack sent her, and never asked anything in return either. She just wrote her daily few sentences about a strange and perfectly unrelated issue, and that was all.

At first, Jack tried to communicate with her, but she gave absolutely no appropriate reply, she only sent her usual messages. Crawford wondered that maybe it was some kind of test Lecter had concocted to check the virtual Will's reactions in order to figure out if it was really Will he was talking to.

But slowly, Jack started to find it unlikely that Hannibal would write such pointless messages day after day... After a half year spent far away from Will! Lecter was a cunning and calculating person, and a psychiatrist by profession, but Crawford felt almost sure that Hannibal wouldn't waste so much time and energy on such empty nothings, when he could freely ask questions and slip his messages during normal correspondence. Or was this the first step of a complicated mind-game Lecter started to play?

After a week, Jack decided to take up the gauntlet, and gave a suitable reply to Caroline's current topic, which was the question of raising property taxes. He wrote a general description of the topic like she had done, though from a different aspect, and added one sentence with his own opinion.

After that, Caroline's messages started to get longer, but the nature of their content didn't change. She wrote a bit more about her opinion, but never anything with personal details.

Jack guessed that it was a positive sign that she started to become more talkative, so he continued answering with the same method. He hoped that the more she wrote, the more occasions she had where she might unwantedly reveal her true purpose.

And then Caroline disappeared. She didn't write a single word during the whole weekend, and Crawford believed that she got bored and wouldn't send a mail again.

But on Monday, when he arrived home late after a long work day, tired and worn, he found a new message from Caroline123 on his palmtop. It only said, "_I bought a gift for you, Will._"

Crawford felt his sleepily half-closed eyelids suddenly spring open. This was not just weird... This was suspicious! All the hopes that started to fade away during the past days were reborn in a split second. Hannibal! "_Why?" _he wrote quickly.

And when Caroline123 gave no reply in twenty minutes, Crawford added, _"I don't need your gifts._"

To his surprise, this time Caroline broke her self-made rule that she wrote only once a day, and she sent a prompt answer, "_I'll mail it to you this week by post._"

What?! Jack blinked the last fragments of fatigue away, and then typed a reply with furious speed, "_You don't even know my address._"

"_You can give it to me now._"

Crawford took a few minutes, considering what his response should be, before he sent, "_What if I say no?_"

"_You won't._"

The witty response made Jack furrow his brow. He tried to pose distant and surly while playing the role of Will Graham, and this woman – or maybe Lecter himself? – simply ignored his attempt.

"_Are you mocking me?_" he sent the question.

Caroline didn't answer.

Crawford rolled his eyes, and then turned back to writing, "_Alright, if you don't have anything better to do than waste your money on such useless things, send me whatever you want._" And he added Will's postal address to the end of the message.

Jack felt a bit uncomfortable for sending Will's personal data, but he tried to ignore the feeling. What was the worst that could come out of this? If she was really a woman called Caroline, who just wanted to send a present to a love interest from the distance, Will might get a surprise gift, and that was all. If she was lying about her intent to send something, then nothing would happen. And if this was really Hannibal... Well, Lecter knew Will's address anyway, so it couldn't do any harm if Jack gave it to him now. Could it?

* * *

><p>The ringing of the doorbell came as a pleasant surprise this time. Will instantly made some efforts to sit up on the sofa, where he was lying, boozing vodka from a half-empty bottle. He needed a high level of concentration in order not to fell from the edge of the piece of furniture while trying to set the bottle on the coffee table. Finally, he managed to complete the motion, and even to avoid stepping on the right forepaw of one of his dogs.<p>

Will expected his pizza order to arrive.

He hadn't eaten a thing in two days, he was already in half-delirium from the mixture of starvation, cheap vodka and occasionally taken medicines, so it was high time that the order he had not long ago placed arrived. He needed some food to ease the burning pain constantly tearing his insides.

Supporting himself with one hand by the door-post, he opened the door, only to see that his visitor was not wearing the uniform of the pizza restaurant, but of a forwarding company.

"Are you Mr. Graham?" the guy asked rapidly.

"Y-yes," Will stuttered, trying to understand what was happening in front of him.

The man briskly placed a small box in Will's hand, and then held a flat screen in his direction. "You should place your electronic signature in the left corner, sir," he explained, probably seeing that Will was not in the condition to figure it out on his own.

"What is this?" Will growled, regaining his ability to react, but numbly keeping the packaged box in the same position the delivery guy gave it to him.

"You got a gift from Paris, sir. Your signature, please?"

Will felt the air freezing around him. He mechanically followed the instruction, and signed the acceptance of the delivery, then let the door slip closed in front of the other man. The delivery guy rushed back to his van, while Will was standing motionless in the living room.

_Paris_...

The world seemed to stop for a few seconds.

Will's chest suddenly got filled with surprisingly pleasant warmth. His heart was beating violently against his ribcage, but all his limbs felt cold like they were dragged through coarse ice. Cold, very cold, and jagged, and rough...

He only came back to his senses when his scar started to sharply hurt from the intense shivers of excitement and horror rushing through his body. Will unsteadily walked to his coffee table, and placed the box there, then tried to open it.

His heart was beating even wilder, while his fingers tore the paper open. He knew it... The gift was from Hannibal. No doubt about that. The box arrived from Paris...

Somehow, he'd always had the feeling that Doctor Lecter was in Europe. There was no clear reason for this suspicion, he just felt it.

And now he also felt that Hannibal sent him a body part. He knew the man well enough to know this.

Will's strongest guess was an ear, though he also considered some bones or an eye wrapped in nylon. That's what Hannibal had for him... The never-ending, always resurfacing nightmares made from unforgiving, dark vengeance... The shallow, mirthless pleasure of a sadist... The continuous torture...

Will doubled up with pain as acute pang sting into his abdomen, and for a while, he couldn't continue unpacking the box. He was not sure about the origin of the sudden pain burning him from the inside and eating its way through the irregular tissues of his scar, but he suspected that it must have had something to do with his excessive drinking. His doctors warned him umpteen times that he would have to keep a very strict, healthy diet.

Will collapsed on the coffee table, drawing agonized, deep breaths, as coarse as sobs.

The pain had lasted at least for ten minutes before it decreased, and he could return to the unpacking of the gift.

It was a carved, dark, wooden box with refined, soft patterns covering its sides as a mysterious spider-web.

Will's hands couldn't stop shaking as he found the locking clasp, and snapped it open. He could almost feel the smell of decaying blood in his nostrils; his eyes were ready to accept the appearance of cut meat and skin...

But when the box opened, sheer astonishment hit him. There was no mutilated body part in it. The carved wooden box contained a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower made of blue sapphire crystals.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Obsessions**

Hannibal dreamt about Will receiving the gift he had sent. Will was standing in his living room, front door half open, opaque crystals of snow dancing on a small patch of the dark floor, dogs lying lazily around his ankles... And as Will unwrapped the box, blood started to run from underneath the lid, and his trembling hands became covered with red streaks...

When the doctor woke up, he found that it was strangely hard to breathe. This was the most beautiful dream he had ever had. It was pure and simple, and meaningful like poetry... For a moment, he simply didn't want to accept that what he had just seen disappeared into nothing.

After a long minute of lying motionless, he sat up on the bed, since he decided that today, it was high time that he truly sent Will the box with the ear. He had taken his time the whole week, considering what kind of person would be the most appropriate victim to provide the ear for the gift. He had killed a few, but then realized that they had not been entirely perfect, and continued his search. He'd needed a week and five victims, but he could not choose the perfect ear to send. Now he made up his mind.

Therefore, he got up, and walked up to the mini-freezer standing in the corner of their hotel suite. The function of the freezer was to create ice cubes for their cold drinks, and Hannibal also kept his collection of ears in it. He took the chosen one packed in nylon, and then returned to their bed.

* * *

><p>"Where is the box?"<p>

Bedelia woke up to the menacing, yet unnaturally calm question breaking the silence of their room early in the morning. She turned to see what was going on.

Hannibal was standing in front of his night stand, keeping the tip of his long, white fingers on the wooden edge of the open top drawer.

"Where is Will's box?" the doctor repeated the question with the exact same intonation.

Bedelia sat up on the bed, asking in a sleepy whisper, "Are you sure it's not in your suit case?"

"I am. I put it in the top drawer of my night stand a week ago and haven't removed it since." Doctor Lecter was not the one to show clear emotions, but the corner of his mouth was tense now; an overt sign of his strong displeasure. "Have you touched it?"

"Do you think I'd steal your box?" Doctor Du Maurier adjusted the neck-line of her black satin nightdress with a half-hearted press of her left palm.

"It was not mine. It was _his_."

"But do you suppose I need it for any purpose?"

The feeble morning lights were glittering on the polished surface of the night stand as Hannibal placed a nylon-wrapped ear on it with an indignant push.

He kept a long pause before answering, "I don't see any reason for that, no."

"Then why ask if I had anything to do with its disappearance?"

There was a hint of distrust in Doctor Lecter's dark brown eyes, but it soon disappeared. "I'll ask the hotel personnel," he said briefly.

Bedelia guessed that if there was any member of the hotel staff who might be suspected of thievery, that unfortunate person was about to end up in pieces. At least, the eerily calm expression on Hannibal's face was hinting at that direction.

"You can always buy a new one," she told him patiently.

"That one was perfect."

Doctor Du Maurier saw that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep again, so she started to search for her clothes in the cabinet. While selecting a dress, she passed a remark, "Maybe, the idea of sending an ear to him was a bit crude, anyway. It wouldn't suit a sophisticated man like you."

Hannibal was about to make a motion to lift the ear from the night stand, but now his fingers froze. He didn't respond.

"Sending an ear to him shows nothing of your fine artfulness. It's too gory, predictable, and blatant," Bedelia continued. "Perhaps, you could send him a letter instead."

"A letter?" The question was threateningly cold.

"A letter," she repeated with equanimity.

"I won't write any of my thoughts to him. I was there to share my whole world with him, and he chose to push it away," Hannibal's voice turned bitter. "I won't write him letters; it would make me look as if I was still obsessing over him from the distance."

Doctor Du Maurier managed to suppress the first reply that came to mind. Hannibal was apparently in bad mood because of the disappearance of Will's box, and she didn't want to make it worse. "A postcard, then?" she asked instead. "Without any message included?"

Hannibal's face slowly turned a bit less averse. He walked up to the woman, put his slim fingers under her chin, and then placed a brief kiss on her lips.

And this was when Bedelia realized that she gave the worst idea ever. Now she was going to spend her next days in gift shops, checking thousands of postcards and listening to Doctor Lecter's disdainful remarks why none of them met his criteria.

* * *

><p>Jack Crawford arrived home quite late again.<p>

He had spent his day organizing a raid on an underground laboratory developing deadly viruses, the leading professor of which had been long investigated by the FBI. Jack had been the one to draw up the professor's profile in order to predict the terrorist cell's next movements, and now he got the task of planning the intervention.

When he sank onto the chair in front of his desk, Caroline123's message was waiting for him on his palmtop. "_Did you get my gift, Will?_"

Jack was tired enough after spending half of his day drowning in endless debates with the group of agents sent by the Counterterrorism Division to assist him with the maneuvers, and now this tricky question...

How on earth could he know whether Will had received the gift or not? Will hadn't reported it; that was for sure.

He massaged his temple, and tried to concentrate. What if Caroline hadn't sent a thing, and she was just playing a stupid game? Should he deny getting anything?

But what if she had truly sent a gift? Wouldn't it be much more useful to make her talk about it? And if this was really Hannibal, then he had surely sent _something_...

Finally, Jack typed a brief, "_Yes,_" as a reply.

Caroline responded promptly, "_I'm glad you did._ _What does its color remind you of?_"

Awkward. Jack rubbed his forehead again with a careworn motion. What could he say?

He felt that if he gave a fictional reply, Caroline – or Lecter?! – was instantly going to figure out that he had no idea about the nature of the gift and he wasn't Will. But since he didn't have the faintest idea about what Will's gift looked like, he didn't dare start guessing the color of it.

"_It reminds me of one of my childhood memories. But it's a long story_." Jack hoped that his response was skillful enough. He added to the message, "_I'm tired, I'll go to sleep now. I'll tell you about it tomorrow._"

Caroline gave no answer.

Crawford spent an hour in front of his palmtop, going over some work-related documents and waiting for her to write, but she didn't. After he saw that there was no use hoping that she was going to say something, he closed the palmtop with a grumpy push.

He knew that his reply was only good for gaining him a day before he would have to write something concrete about Will's gift. In the meantime, somehow, he would have to figure out what it was.

* * *

><p>Crawford found Will's front door unlocked again, so he simply just walked inside when he arrived at the younger man's house. Jack kept a paper bag of groceries in one hand, while with the other, he closed the door behind his back.<p>

He spotted Will on the couch. The younger man was drinking something – supposedly alcohol – from a bottle, and was watching a city guide DVD about Paris. He kept his fogged eyes dreamily on the scene where a traditional macaron shop was being introduced to the viewers.

"I didn't know you were interested in French culture," Crawford broke the silence.

Will's limp body stirred. The younger man turned his eyes away from the TV screen with difficulty as if waking up from a profound sleep. When he saw his visitor, he dragged himself up into a sitting position, grabbing the armrest of the sofa with one hand, while hugging his abdomen with the other arm. A painful wince crossed his face as he straightened his back. "Jack..." he emitted a gruff hack. "What are you doing here?"

"You look horrible," the older man commented bluntly. "I brought you lunch. You are gaunt like a skeleton, you need to eat."

"Are you considering switching careers and starting out as a social worker?" Will asked with a weak, scornful half-smile - basically just a bitter pull at the left corner of his mouth.

"Do you think this is something to joke about?" Jack set a loaf of bread, a pack of spaghetti, and a bottle of tomato sauce on the coffee table from the paper bag. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life behind closed shutters, in the gloom, drinking to the point of unconsciousness?"

Shakily rubbing his palm across his t-shirt, over the hidden laceration crossing his abdomen, Will gave a quiet reply, "It sounds much better than all the other options I can think of right now."

Jack wanted to swiftly respond with a shrewd retort, but he realized he couldn't figure out any. He just cleared his throat, then threw a bundle of vegetables next to the noodles and sauce.

"Did nothing interesting happen to you in the past few days?" he asked while freeing a small pack of dried oregano from the bottom of the paper bag.

"Not really." Will's voice remained as coarse and disenchanted as before, but an unwitting twitch of his eyebrows showed that he was thinking of something he didn't want to mention.

"Nothing at all?" Jack asked again.

Will shrugged.

The older man finished unpacking the food he brought. "Okay, now get up from the damned couch, and make us pasta for lunch," he ordered assertively.

Will just made a grimace and didn't move first, but when Jack gave him the strictest look he had developed during his years at the FBI, Will finally turned towards the food, and got on his feet.

"You'd make a nightmarish helper, I hope you realize that," the younger man muttered, while staggering with the vegetables and the spaghetti towards the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Will blanched, peeled and chopped a couple of tomatoes. He spent a few seconds doubting that he would be able to finish the process without mutilating his fingers, his movements were that unstable after a bottle of cheap red wine, but he somehow managed to solve it without any significant kitchen accident.<p>

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack go over his things in the living room. The FBI agent was searching for something. It was no disappointment for Will to realize that the main reason Crawford visited him was that the older man wanted to find something among his personal belongings. Will didn't even bother to mention that he saw right through Crawford's clumsy attempts to hide his purpose, pretending that he was just checking whether Will needed anything from the shopping centre he planned to visit in the afternoon.

"Would you like me to change the light bulb in your floor lamp?" Crawford asked when he realized that Will was watching him.

"No, thanks." Will turned to the simmering tomato sauce, stirred it a few times, and then added the fresh tomato slices and the oregano.

"Your home looks like a haunted house, with half of the bulbs burned out."

Will ignored the comment, and concentrated on the food he was preparing.

"Would you timely inform me if he contacted you?" Jack's next question was unexpected and much harsher than his previous words. He was looking straight at Will now.

The younger man put a lid on the saucepan, and slowly turned towards Crawford. "What do you think?" he asked with a lopsided, stiff half-smile.

"I don't know what to think about you two anymore. You are apparently obsessing over him."

"Am I?"

Jack took a few steps in the younger man's direction. "Look, I see that this is not easy," he started, his face grave. "It's not easy for you, and trust me, it's not easy for me either. I'm just recovering from the loss of my love, my dear Bella, the woman I spent half of my life with. Sometimes, I'm just sitting home alone in the evening, looking at the furniture we bought together, listening to the music we chose together, thinking about her... About our memories, about the chances that were taken away from us... I understand how hard it is to let go."

"I've already let go of him."

"The hell you have!" With a scornful snort, Jack came to a halt at the entrance of the kitchen.

"I have." Will's voice was full of weary disillusionment, yet, his answer was resolute. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't spend my days here like this. I would cross the whole world or do anything else to find him."

The older man just made an impatient whisk with his left hand. "Alright, then look me in the eye and tell me that you genuinely despise him for who he is and what he has done to you!"

Will's tottering movements to adjust the saucepan on the stove suddenly stilled, and the pale blue of his eyes turned bleary.

Long silence followed Jack's sentence.

Finally, Will's words came in a raspy, tremulous sigh, "It's in the bedroom, on my night stand."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Blue**

Late in the evening, Jack sat down in front of his palmtop, and set the mini Eiffel Tower in an evidence bag on his desk. Will had given it to him with a lifeless shrug and no resistance, when the older man had stated that the strange gift was to be processed in the crime lab. The total lack of vigor in Graham's eyes had been close to scary.

Crawford switched the screen to Caroline123's page on International Love. He wrote her, "_I keep your gift on my night stand. It reminds me of the port where my first home was. The water was often deep blue before storm._"

Caroline took a while before she sent a reply. Jack almost got up and went to sleep, but then the message suddenly popped up, "_Why did you call this a long story yesterday?_"

Crawford let out an angry puff. To hell with this woman! He forgot about the stupid excuse he had made last night, but Caroline didn't.

He typed an annoyed answer, "_Because I wanted to tell you some more about it. About the places I grew up, I mean. But I don't feel like sharing it with you any longer. I don't like the undertone of your question._"

Caroline simply wrote, "_Why?_"

"_Because you seem to imply that I was telling you lies._"

Jack thought he had managed to fake righteous indignation, and avert the veil falling off of his trick... Right until Caroline gave her response, "_Which is exactly what you were doing._"

This was the point where Crawford lost patience with her, and quickly sent her the message, "_Don't try to look so assured. You know nothing about me!_"

Caroline didn't reply instantly. Jack had enough time to believe that this time he managed to give a witty response which made her reconsider her previous viewpoint, but then her answer arrived. "_That might be true. For example, I didn't know, Will, that you were this self-conceited and unable to subtly cope with situations where a woman outsmarted you._"

* * *

><p>Hannibal looked up from the forty-two postcards he had bought and was meticulously inspecting under a magnifying glass in order to select the proper one. Now, he kept his dark eyes on Bedelia. He was sitting in the corner of their room, in an armchair, while she was lying on their double bed, reading and writing messages on her iPad. Doctor Lecter suddenly remarked, "The man you are talking to must be special."<p>

Bedelia stopped typing, and lifted her head up with a questioning look, "What makes you say that?"

"You were smiling. This was the first time I'd seen you smile when talking to someone online."

The badly repressed surprise on Doctor Du Maurier's face showed Hannibal that she didn't realize her own reaction, and her former colleague's words caught her off guard.

"It's not what you think..." she tried to explain, but Doctor Lecter interrupted her.

"You really should not feel the need to apologize," he said. "I understand that my company has been lacking the sources of entertainment lately. I don't mind at all that you enjoy talking to him."

"It's not..." Bedelia started again, but Hannibal got up from his armchair, stepped next to her, and silenced her with a gentle caress of his fingertips on her lower lip.

"You don't need to explain," he murmured. "I saw it in your eyes."

Doctor Du Maurier must have decided that it was more comfortable not to force the topic, because she subsided into silence for a while.

* * *

><p>After finishing the message she typed, Bedelia chose to start a conversation with Hannibal about his favorite topic - basically the only topic he paid any attention to. Doctor Lecter was going through his postcards for the ninth time, and she decided that he needed some distraction before he would start the tenth round. "Tell me what hurts you the most about Will's betrayal," she asked.<p>

Hannibal looked up from the postcard he was just examining.

"The feeling of powerlessness," he gave a quiet reply after a couple of seconds. He got up from the armchair, and took a few steps towards the middle of the room, hands now folded behind his back. "What more could I have done to make him choose me? I gave him everything I could. My world, my secrets, my trust, my viewpoint, my future... And he stabbed me in the back. He simply didn't want me... He chose them over me. _Them_! They didn't do anything valuable for him, and gave him nothing. And he chose them."

"I don't think this was about him choosing someone else over you," Bedelia disagreed with him. "He chose the moral principles he believed in. That's a whole other question."

"Does that make any difference?" Hannibal's voice turned deeper and more pained in tone. "The result is the same. I gave him everything I was, and it was not enough."

Bedelia let out a silent sigh. "I told you before: this was a paradox, you wanting to have him as a true friend..."

"But I do." Hannibal turned back to look Doctor Du Maurier in the eye. "And now I can't decide if I want to push a blade into him, and twist it, and drag it, and push it into him again... Or if I want to hold him close in an embrace and hear him breathing."

Bedelia offered a faint smile. "You still love him, don't you?"

The muscles in Hannibal's jaw became somewhat taut; however, he admitted, "Yes, I do."

"But I'm not talking about friendly love."

The tension on Hannibal's face increased, and his brown eyes darted at Bedelia with frightening intensity. "What are you talking about, then?"

Doctor Du Maurier sat up on the bed, maintaining eye contact. She didn't reply, but the prolonged silence was enough to fill the room with a freezing aura as Doctor Lecter understood her implication.

"No." The word left Hannibal's lips in a short, perturbed breath. Bedelia saw that her suggestion had hit a nerve.

"Have you never considered this aspect?" she asked.

"No." Doctor Lecter swiftly turned away from her to look out the hotel window. "And I'd prefer you not to do it either."

Bedelia pretended not to hear the last sentence. "I think this is the answer to your question – what more you could have given him," she continued talking pensively. "You either let him too close... or you didn't let him close enough. You could have given him a chance to be yours, and yourself to be his... You could have shared this part of your life with him, and it would have meant that you could have lived everything with him. You could have shown - not just in a twisted mental way - but also in a plain and way clearer physical way how much you cared. You two could have built a much stronger connection together, if you..."

"Would you stop this, please?" Hannibal interrupted with sudden quickness. Bedelia had never seen the man's face this unnaturally pale before, as he was staring out the window. "Even if you were right, there would be no use talking about never existing chances. The past is the past. Sooner or later, I'd have left him behind like I've left everything else behind so many times in my life," Doctor Lecter uttered in a cold, but speedy whisper. "And now I would like to ask you not to mention this particular topic again. Ever."

The emphasis on the word 'ever' sounded like a serious threat, so Doctor Du Maurier decided that she shouldn't press the love aspect of Hannibal and Will's relationship if she wanted to make sure that she lived longer than a couple of more minutes.

"As you wish," she nodded.

"I don't want to talk about him at all today." Hannibal abruptly stepped away from the window to have a look at his appearance in the mirror on the hotel room's wall. He adjusted his tie, then put his suit jacket on. "I'm going out for a walk. These postcards are all worthless, I need to buy a new one."

As Doctor Lecter left with firm steps, Bedelia leaned back on the bed, and tapped the screen of her iPad ponderingly.

* * *

><p>Jack woke up early in the morning, to the electronic beeping of his alarm clock. He silenced it with a sleepy push, then get up from the bed. The first thing he did was search for his palmtop on his desk.<p>

Last night he simply left the conversation after Caroline's derisive comment, without saying a thing. But now, as the first rush of anger had been alleviated by his sleep, he was curious whether she had written anything else throughout the night.

He opened his palmtop to see that Caroline123 sent him a message indeed.

"_I miss you, Will._"

Jack felt his heart skip a beat. _I miss you_?! It was him! It was Hannibal! It had been Hannibal all along...

He could barely believe his eyes. He did it. He truly caught Lecter's attention with his idea. What a victory! Caroline was Lecter, and he walked right into the trap...

Jack eagerly re-read the short message.

If this was really Hannibal – and now, after this sentence, the possibility seemed almost one hundred percent sure -, then finally, the conversation took an important turn. Even though, Crawford didn't expect such a simple and genuine statement from Hannibal. But, well, Lecter always had the ability to surprise everyone.

Hands shaking from excitement, Jack rapidly wrote, "_I miss you too._"

Only after sending the message, he started to realize how this must have looked if this Caroline wasn't Hannibal but a real woman searching for a lover. In that case, he made Will look like a fool, sending _I-miss-you_-s to strangers... But, okay, this was not a big deal. The worst that could happen was that he was encouraging a lunatic and made her believe that Will had some absurd emotions for her from the distance. But if this was Lecter – and sure he was! –, this was the best chance to disclose the truth.

Jack started to impatiently organize some documents on his desk while waiting for Caroline123 to answer. He hoped that he wouldn't have to wait until he had to leave for work. He was simply unable to focus on anything else now but his plan. It worked... It really worked... He was going to catch Lecter... Nothing could stop him now. Nothing.

But Caroline's reply made the papers fall out of his hand in a chaotic jumble onto the floor.

She wrote, "_Do you still remember the taste of our first kiss?_"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Kisses**

Jack spent a few seconds staring at the screen of his palmtop. Will and Hannibal? Kissing?! And not just once, but at least a few times, if now Hannibal was talking about a _first_ kiss...

It was not that he had any problem with same-sex relationships. But already the fact that Will and Hannibal were close friends was unsettling enough, and bad enough to imagine what those two sick minds were doing together... And now the possibility of a more intimate depth added to the picture... It was plain disturbing.

And it completely changed the situation.

Crawford paid no attention to the fallen papers, and not even to the fact that his working hours were about to start in no time. He quickly finished the steps of his morning routine, and then got in his car to visit Will.

* * *

><p>Will opened the door only after the sixth ring of the doorbell. Crawford remarked inwardly that the morning lights made Graham look even worse. At least, the gloomy shadows of the house graciously hid some of his unkemptness and unhealthy pallor. Jack decided not to try to guess how long Will hadn't shaved, or changed his clothes.<p>

"How are you?" The older man risked the question.

"I'm fine." Even a person under a death sentence waiting for his execution would have uttered these words with more enthusiasm. Will took an uncertain step back, probably for he realized that Jack was making a mild grimace because of the heavy smell of alcohol and uncleanness welling from his direction.

"What do you want?" Will rasped.

Crawford entered the room without invitation, and closed the door. "I'd like to ask you about you and Hannibal Lecter."

"Yes?"

"Is there any chance that your relationship was a bit more... uhm... personal than the one you told me about?"

"More _personal_?" Will's eyes were fixed on the doorknob beside Jack's elbow. "Yes, it was pretty _personal_ if that's what you want to hear... He was my friend, my doctor, my enemy, my support, my undoing... The only person I've ever truly trusted at some point... And he showed me what true friendship was... He did... in spite of everything..." Will's voice trailed off. The muddled words were enough to convince Crawford that Graham had gotten heavily drunk again.

And since the answer was too vague, Jack saw that he was not able to avoid a direct question. "But was he more than just a friend?"

The corner of Will's mouth made a sharp, jerking movement. "Like what?"

"Like your lover."

Will's blue eyes flashed from the door to the older man in a bewildered gaze. He seemed to sober up in a second. "What the hell? No!"

The genuine astonishment aroused Jack's suspicion that he might be making a fool out of himself. "Er, okay," he mumbled. "I was just..."

"What were you thinking?!" Will's voice went from shocked to angry. "Do you suppose I would get involved in an affair with a serial killer?!" He pushed his fingers edgily into the tangled curls of his brown hair. "I'm not even interested in _men_."

"Okay, I see, I was just... asking."

"It's very upsetting that you felt that it was necessary to ask this at all!"

"I see, I see... It's just... You were so close together, and I started wondering..."

"Not _this_ close." Will shook his head impatiently.

"Okay, but..." Crawford took a deep breath, and then continued, "But did you share two or three kisses, a couple of times? Just for fun, perhaps. Open mouth, real kisses..."

"Like some adventurous teenagers?" Will uttered a coarse snicker. "What's this all about, Jack? This is complete nonsense. We didn't even give a peck on each other's cheeks."

Crawford decided to make a last attempt. "Is it possible that for some reason he believes that he kissed you?"

"No."

"Maybe, you just don't remember clearly. He might have kissed you in a non-consensual way, while you were under the influence of hallucinations and illness... before your hospitalization..."

"Jack! He is a manipulative, cannibalistic serial killer. He force-fed me a raw ear while I was suffering from an episode, not _kissed_ me! What on earth is the purpose of your questions?"

This was the moment when Crawford truly saw that he had indeed made a fool out of himself. _Damned Caroline_...

"I'm really sorry, Will," he muttered after an awkward minute of silence. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just... I have to see every detail of this case if I ever want to catch him. Er, thanks for your cooperation." The FBI Agent took a step towards the door in order to leave as soon as possible.

Will stared at him intently. "But what's with the kissing?"

"I had a reason to believe that he'd kissed you. But... but I'm sure now that it was just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to share any details of an ongoing investigation." And Jack quickly rushed out the door.

* * *

><p>Hannibal hadn't believed that the way he had been missing Will could worsen. At first, he had actually hoped that it was about to weaken with every day spent thousands of miles away from his former friend. After the fourth or fifth month, he started to accept that it wouldn't get any better. But the fact that it was going to get a lot worse... Well, this was really not fair. And it was all Doctor Du Maurier's fault.<p>

How could she invent the surrealistic idea about him being in love with Will? And why? Why couldn't she just kept quiet about it? Was it really necessary to share this with him?

Hannibal set the postcard aside he was examining on the shop counter, and turned towards the next one. He tried hard not to let his mind return to Bedelia's suggestion, but it was impossible not to think about it. And think about it again, and again, and continue thinking about it...

Thinking about a chance that might have been able to give him Will and the life he wanted to live with him... This was like venom, eating him from the inside, poisoning every breath, every heartbeat, and every thought.

Up until this moment, he had tried to tell himself that he had done his best to make Will see the beauty and happiness he'd wanted to show him, and Will had been blind to it, and it simply hadn't worked, and it was time to ultimately give up on him, and Will was just an annoying failure of his plans... And he hoped that sooner or later, he would also realize this in his heart, not just rationally. But now, after Bedelia's words about love...

This opened a new aspect, but he wished it hadn't.

Did he really love Will? Like lovers do? Or was it just Doctor Du Maurier's dubious idea? Was it possible at all that he was indeed in love with Will?

He had long ago had to admit to himself that he was capable of loving Will in a way he had never been able to love others... But it was friendly love, wasn't it? Surely, it was. What else could it be?

Of course it was. This was all just Bedelia's trick, and he shouldn't even consider it... This was some cheap mind game. A see-through, overt attempt to twist his perception... Too unreasonable, too absurd, impossible... He shouldn't care, he shouldn't pay any attention, he should simply just shrug it off...

But he couldn't. And he felt that this was becoming the worst torture possible.

* * *

><p>Will found Jack's questions about the kiss laughable first. It was even in a sense disgraceful, thinking about a man like Doctor Lecter kissing his half-patient-half-friend as if it was some childish experiment for fun... What a bizarre idea. Hannibal was attracted to beauty and perfection, not to '<em>anything<em> he hadn't tried before'.

Will shook his head, and groped for the bottle of liquor standing on the floor, next to the coffee table. He took a big gulp, and tried not to think about the topic any longer. Instead, he struggled to recall when the last time was he had fed his dogs. Was it possible that they had to skip last dinner and this breakfast too?

Will couldn't remember, but he guessed they would be way more anxious if they hadn't gotten anything yet, and they wouldn't just peacefully snooze in the corner. Therefore, he drank some more, and lied back down on the couch.

With a shaky sway of the remote control, he switched the TV on, and started watching his DVD again.

Hannibal kissing him... Such an absurd idea. Where the hell could Jack get this from? _No, no, don't go back to the kissing-theory again_... Will scratched his beard, and tried to focus on the film. He soon managed to get absorbed in the details.

But then the increasing amount of vodka in his system and the forty-second time he had been watching the city guide DVD started to play tricks on his brain. There was a scene in the film where a couple was sitting on a bench on the side of the Seine, gazing at the water and then kissing.

And Will couldn't stop his mind from starting to imagine how it would feel to sit there with Hannibal. The light touch of warm breeze on his cheeks, the silvery glimmer of sunshine on the water, the distinctive scent of the doctor's expensive perfume... And then a moist, soft pressure on his lips.

No.

_This is stupid... This is simply insane_. Will buried his face in his palms. _How on earth could Jack invent this nonsense_?

Was it possible that Hannibal had truly kissed him while he was lost in a hallucination?

No, no, this was absurd...

But what if...?

No. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

But there were still hours of ill seizures he couldn't recall... Those were a blur. A faded fog in his mind. Maybe...

No. It couldn't happen. It had never happened. Not even once. Never...

But maybe...

No.

The rational part of Will's mind knew that it had never happened. He knew it, felt it, and he didn't have any real doubt about it.

And yet, he closed his eyes, and made a trembling motion to briefly rub his lips with his callous fingers, imagining for a moment that he was touching the place where Hannibal's mouth had been pressed a long while ago.

* * *

><p>Crawford had been two hours late from work because of the short visit he had paid Will. The leader of the agents sent by the Counterterrorism Division blamed him for the delay of their schedule; he didn't even have time to drink coffee before they had to leave the office, and had forgotten his umbrella at home... Which meant that he got soaked in rain before he tugged the umbrella out of one of his subordinates hand and held it over his own head.<p>

Jack couldn't have been angrier with Caroline123. Or Lecter. Yes, it was still probable that it was Hannibal Lecter. Though it might just be a foolish woman who fell in love with Will from the distance. Why would Hannibal write that rubbish question about the first kiss? Why would anyone write about a non-existent first kiss? The whole thing was only good to make Crawford look like an idiot as if he was clutching at straws, trying to make up absurd ideas to somehow, anyhow, track Doctor Lecter down.

He sincerely hoped that Will was drunk enough to soon forget about the whole conversation.

When he finally managed to get an hour of break back in his office, he sat down with his palmtop, and opened Caroline123's profile. He typed with quick, enraged strokes, "_Are you crazy? We have never kissed!_"

Caroline's reply was fast. "_I know._ _I just wanted you to think about kissing me. And I think it worked._"

Jack felt the anger explode in him. "_You are sick._"

Caroline gave no reply. After a minute of waiting, Jack closed the palmtop with an ill-tempered growl, and left his office to finally grab a cup of coffee.

But when he returned, and saw that Caroline still hadn't answered, he started to reconsider the whole case. He knew that Caroline was online, and the fact that she didn't reply meant that she didn't like his response. And the last thing Jack wanted was to truly break up the dialogue.

_Okay_, he told himself. _If this is really just a lunatic fan of Will, there is no point in spending time fuming over her tricks. And if this is Hannibal, then I should immediately pick up the conversation_.

Inhaling slowly, Jack counted till three, and then he wrote, "_Alright, sorry, maybe I was a bit too harsh. But I don't like that you are trying to manipulate me._"

Caroline was indeed online, since she replied in no time. "_What would you like me to do, then? I'll do whatever you like._"

A suspicion of a smile appeared on Jack's face. For a moment, he forgot about the fact that Caroline might very well be Hannibal, and felt some genuine amusement when reading her insinuating response, but it didn't last longer than a second. He soon realized that most probably, he was talking to Lecter. He quickly tried to figure out a useful answer.

"_Show me a picture about yourself,_" he wrote. "_A normal picture, not like the blurred one you have on the site._"

Caroline took a minute, before she sent, "_Does it really matter?_"

"_What?_"

"_How I look._"

_Here we go. Now she is trying to make up excuses why she doesn't show her appearance, _Jack concluded._ Well, not she. He. This must be Hannibal_. He simply answered, "_It does._"

"_I see. But you don't need photos. You know how I look._"

And for Jack, this response was the absolute proof. Caroline was Lecter. He didn't have a single doubt about it anymore. Caroline123 had just admitted knowing Will in person... It must have been Hannibal then. And it was time to develop a plan to catch him.


End file.
